Wiru, left, shows off his long eyelashes at Redwood Regional Park as Ollantaytambo stands nearby.

Wiru, left, shows off his long eyelashes at Redwood Regional Park as Ollantaytambo stands nearby.

Photo: Michael Short, The Chronicle

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The cloven hooves of George Caldwell's llama Ollantaytambo are seen as he stands in the shade during a visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

The cloven hooves of George Caldwell's llama Ollantaytambo are seen as he stands in the shade during a visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

Photo: Michael Short, The Chronicle

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(L-R)George Caldwell's llamas Ollantaytambo, Bodaciuos and Wiru stand around as they make a visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

(L-R)George Caldwell's llamas Ollantaytambo, Bodaciuos and Wiru stand around as they make a visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

Photo: Michael Short, The Chronicle

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George Caldwell's llamas Wiru, left, and Ollantaytambo, right, stand in the sun during their regular visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

George Caldwell's llamas Wiru, left, and Ollantaytambo, right, stand in the sun during their regular visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

Photo: Michael Short, The Chronicle

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George Caldwell stands with his llamas Ollantaytambo, center, and Bodacious during a regular visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

George Caldwell stands with his llamas Ollantaytambo, center, and Bodacious during a regular visit to Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California Friday October 4, 2013.

Photo: Michael Short, The Chronicle

Spreading the love of llamas, from parks to Peru

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Some might look at a llama and see a future rug. George Caldwell sees the long-lashed, dewy eyes of the gods.

"Llamas really are at a higher level of consciousness," he said. "They're a symbol of love. All they do is spread energy and goodwill. ... We call them the mystics of the Andes."

Caldwell, a former trucking company owner from Saratoga, is on a mission to share the joy of llamas with people in the Bay Area and beyond. Several times a month, he loads his van with two or three llamas from his herd of 35 and drives from his home in Sonora (Tuolumne County) to Ocean Beach, Golden Gate Park, the Oakland hills, nursing homes and schools in hopes of converting others to llama love.

Sometimes he just leads the llamas into the park and lets the public come to him, not a difficult task because most people seem to find the placid, droopy-eyed beasts irresistible. He gives people carrots and alfalfa pellets to feed the llamas, and lets people brush the llamas' silken tresses.

Other outings are more organized. His most regular gig is at Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, where he leads short hikes with the llamas through the redwood trees. The llamas seem happy to comply, as long as there's a steady stream of treats.

But his most ambitious goal as llama ambassador is in Peru, where he wants to re-introduce the animal that was once synonymous with Andean culture. He's been on llama missions to Peru five times, and plans more.

"In Peru, you hardly even see llamas any more," he said. "It's a heartbreak."

For thousands of years, people who lived in the Andes employed llamas to transport metal, fruit and other goods from the mountains to the coast to the jungles and back. Llamas were also prized for their fur, which makes strong rugs, blankets, sweaters and other items.

Llamas were such an integral part of the culture they took on a spiritual role. Some in the Andes called them "speechless brothers," noting that they appear more intelligent and emotionally complex than other animals.

Llamas do have a certain dignity. With their upright posture and tendency to stare directly into a visitor's eyes, they seem almost on the brink of speaking.

Their only aggressive trait is spitting, which they do rarely and usually only at other llamas. They don't kick, bite or head-butt.

Caldwell is not alone in his llama passion. Dozens of people around Northern California keep llamas, even though llamas aren't quite pets - few will curl up on your lap - yet they're not the most useful of livestock, either.

"Me and my husband emptied our 401(k), all our savings, and bought llamas," said Mary Adams, who has 37 llamas at her ranch in Grass Valley (Nevada County). "We're llama-holics. There's just something very magical about them. We love them."

Some people who own llamas enter them in shows. Other people collect their fur and sell it to rug companies, although the income does not come close to covering the costs - namely, hay - of keeping a llama. Other people just commune with their llamas.

"They're wise souls," said Lora Crawford, who keeps 24 llamas at her ranch in Turlock. "They're gentle, intelligent, easy to train. At first I was going to raise dogs or horses, but then I saw a llama and fell in love."

Caldwell got interested in llamas in the early 1980s after reading an article in his local paper. He and his wife were immediately fascinated with the long-lashed creatures, and soon had a herd of 80. Now he's down to 35, but the love has not waned.

"I call them the dolphins of the land," he said. "You can't help smiling when you're with them."

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To meet Caldwell's llamas, register with the East Bay Regional Park District at (888) 327-2757 or go to www.ebparksonline.com.